


The Time For Fear Comes Later

by spatialsoloist



Series: Bound to Others, Past and Present [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, The Dark Knight Rises setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialsoloist/pseuds/spatialsoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Gotham City in ashes and the Batman missing, chaos, plundering and murder are always present in the ruined slums of the once-great city. Bilbo barely survives by making use of his light fingers and even lighter feet. Danger is always lurking no matter where you are, and Bilbo would gladly remain unnoticed.</p>
<p>Then, he accidentally saves one of Bane’s men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time For Fear Comes Later

**Author's Note:**

> I officially start University tomorrow. Hopefully I'll still find the time to write...!
> 
> This takes place in The Dark Knight Rises universe, during the time period where Bane took over. There shouldn't be any spoilers for the film itself, I think. But seriously, who hasn't seen TDKR by now. It's fantastic.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was nearing midnight when it happened— several bursts of gunshots shattered the uneasy silence and the shouts that followed startled Bilbo so badly he slipped on the uneven rungs on the ladder on the side of the abandoned building and fell, six feet below, into the remains of a foul-smelling dumpster. Gasping for breath and clutching the pilfered paper bag to his chest, his first coherent thought was _fuck they’re coming for me_ and then _wait, what?_

Nobody was coming for Bilbo Baggins. He’d stolen the bag of beef jerky from an old supermarket that had been stripped down to its bones except for a couple of overturned boxes in the back that the robbers, bandits and the occasional starving kid had managed to overlook. Inside were several packages of salted, air-vacuumed meats with an expiration date that lasted until New Year’s. Bilbo had nearly cried tears of joy when he found them and grabbed the bag without thinking twice; it was a proper meal he’d not seen in weeks, and while there would be a chance he’d be forced to fight another street rat for his food, nobody was around to scold him for stealing things anymore.

It was not unusual for the sounds of gunshots to go off, especially in the area by the sewers and waterworks. Bane’s men had spread themselves all over Gotham city the minute Batman fell and they were not known for their subtly or generosity. Bilbo made a point of keeping to himself and to stay on his toes because things would not go well if he crossed any of those men.

They were not normal bad guys.

Bane’s men have been trained to fight and kill in ways Bilbo had never thought possible, and like Bane, they seemed to run on an endless supply of energy. He’d had never seen the fearsome mercenary before, but Bilbo had no desire to ever cross the monster’s path.

Shuddering to himself, Bilbo made a face and crawled out of the dumpster as quickly and quietly as he could. He had been trying to take a shortcut back to his current hideout since the rain started, but the sound of gunshots rung out again, echoing at the mouth of the narrow. Sneaking as stealthily as he could towards the corner of the street, Bilbo pulled out a cracked compact mirror from his pocket and held it up around the corner to see what was going on.

There were six guys fighting in the middle of the empty street, five guys on one. The lone man was obviously injured, but he still fought fiercely, kicking and punching and breaking bones with painful cracks and animalistic roars. The five others darted around him, trying to find an opening, and this went on for about five more minutes before three of the attackers were left dead on the ground and the other two were scrambling away, clutching small packages. This left the man falling heavily to his knees, panting harshly in the rain.

Bilbo gulped, retracting the mirror so he could look around the corner himself. Common sense smacked him over the head, telling him to hurry the fuck out of there before he could get caught up in the aftermath. However, the injured guy was lying smack in the middle of the street, and Bilbo needed to go around him to get out.

Swallowing and hoping to god that he wouldn’t be shot, Bilbo stuffed his bag into the inside of his jacket and walked out, waiting for the man to get up, to move, to pick up his gun and skip along his merry way—but then the guy keeled over and landed with a _splut_ in a puddle on the ground. Bilbo gaped for a minute before he realized that the must’ve be more hurt than he let on in the fight. By now Bilbo’s survival instincts were practically throwing a fit for him to bolt and run as fast as he could— it was a stupid and foolish thing to even _think_ about rescuing the guy. It was probably a one-way ticket to the afterlife, but then man, unaware that Bilbo was staring, let out a pained groan and Bilbo felt his conscience win over.

“Confound it all!” he muttered to himself as he took another careful step forwards.

“Hello?” he called nervously, making sure to be heard; the last thing he needed was for the guy to mistake him as an enemy and attack. “Are you okay over there?”

The man turned his head, but it was dark and Bilbo couldn’t see his reaction. He dug into his pocket and pulled out an old flashlight that flickered a bit when he turned it on, careful not to accidentally flash the guy in the eye. “Alright, I’m going walk over to you, and I swear I’m not going try to hurt you or anything, so, um, please don’t shoot me?”

Still no reply. Bilbo took a deep breath and stumbled across the street before he could knee down next to the guy, shining the flashlight away from his face. There was a little bit of light from the streetlamp several paces away, and in the combined light Bilbo could finally make out the guy’s long, wavy black hair, a prickly beard, and a pinched expression. He was wearing a dark jacket, but underneath he also appeared to be wearing some kind of chest plate or bulletproof vest. Bilbo also spied two handguns, a massive knife, loads of ammunition and what looked like an actual pin grenade. Swallowing nervously, Bilbo looked up to meet the guy’s fierce glare.

“Um, are you hurt anywhere?”

The man snapped loudly in a different language and shoved Bilbo away from him, trying to sit up but failing due to what looked like a huge, gaping gash on his stomach and upper thigh. The wet ground around them was already darkening with blood, and Bilbo realized belatedly that it was starting to rain.

“Take it easy,” he said hurriedly, digging into his pocket for an old handkerchief. Bilbo stuck it out to him, but the guy ignored him as he tried to stand up before promptly falling over, knocking Bilbo down as well.

“Hey!” Bilbo cried as a sharp elbow made contact with his stomach. “D’you mind?”

“Shut up,” the man growled, rolling back over. He was tough— obviously in pain but still very capable of moving. Bilbo glowered.

“Hey, you’re just being rude now. You’re bleeding everywhere and I’m betting your ankle is broken. Where are you staying? I’ll give you a hand, seriously. And believe me when I say that you can probably kill me if you wanted to, so I’d rather stay on your good side than take a bullet through my skull.”

The man stared at him, eyes squinty and nose scrunched irritably before biting out in slightly accented English, “What’re you doing out on a night like this, little bird?” Bilbo hesitated before opening his jacket and retrieving one of the packages of beef jerky.

“Grabbing dinner?” he offered, shaking the bag. The man’s eyebrows went up with slight surprise and Bilbo tore open the package, offering him a strip of jerky. The man grabbed it, taking a huge bite that made blood spew out of his wounds a little more.

“That’s gross,” Bilbo complained, holding his bag away from the blood. The man snorted, grabbing the previously discarded handkerchief to swab at his cut.

“You’re not squeamish, little bird?”

Bilbo snorted. “Squeamish of what? A little blood? The only reason why it’s gross is because it’s yours. I’d rather my food remain edible.”

The man grunted, taking another vicious bite. The rain was starting to fall heavily on them now and Bilbo shivered, drawing his wet jacket around his skinny frame and tried not to think of how weird it was to sit out in the middle of the street eating beef jerky with an injured stranger.

“Okay, you’re obviously okay with sitting in the rain, and you look like you eat kittens for breakfast, but how about finding some shelter? It’s cold enough to freeze somebody’s bollocks off!”

“You’ve got a sharp tongue,” the man grinned. “You a hooker?”

“No, of course not!” Bilbo cried indignantly, now angry. “I most certainly am not, you ass, that’s extremely presumptuous of you to say!”

“All right, all right, keep your panties on,” the man smirked, grunting as he tried in vain to pull himself up. More blood gushed out and Bilbo made a face. “How about this, little bird. You lend me a hand back to my place and I’ll compensate you. What say you?”

“How do I know that you’re not going shoot me in the back of my head and take my stuff once I get you back?” Bilbo said suspiciously. “Or other worse things, if you’re into that.”

The man glowered. “Like I’ll be doing shit on this ankle. I give you my word, little bird. I, Thorin. Leave me at the sewers and be on your way. That’s all there is to it. One of my brothers will find me.”

Bilbo stared at him, then shrugged. “Sure. And it’s not little bird, by the way. It’s Bilbo.”

“Bilbo?” the man repeated, frowning. “Strange name.”

“Why do you even call me little bird? I look nothing like a bird.”

Thorin lifted his shoulders again. “You’re small. And very light on your feet. I didn’t even know you were walking towards me until you spoke.”

Bilbo blinked. “Really?”

“Yes,” Thorin answered. “But you’re a fool. You should’ve run. Any idiot would know not to interfere with the aftermath of a fight.”

Bilbo scowled. “Do you want help or not?”

Thorin grunted as Bilbo pulled him up, letting him lean against his side as the two of them begun to slowly hobble down the street. The rain fell harder now, sweeping sideways, soaking their hair and their clothes. Bilbo felt his fingertips growing numb as they trudged on with Thorin giving directions through back ways and run-down, dusty buildings. It took nearly an hour before they finally came to the opening of the sewers by the edge of the city where water gushed out of the massive pipes madly. Bilbo made a slight noise of despair— there was no way he or Thorin would make it across with Thorin’s bad ankle. The man seemed to be thinking the same thing, though he didn’t look particularly bothered.

“Enough. I will go from here.”

“You’re stupid,” Bilbo shot back, aware that it might not have been the smartest thing to say to a man with a gun. “You’ll get swept away on your own. You need to find another way across. Is there another way across?”

Thorin snorted. “You’re an odd one, little bird.”

Bilbo glared. “Is there another way across or not?”

Thorin shrugged. “I could call for someone,” he said easily, and Bilbo spluttered.

“You could’ve called someone? But you made me drag you all the way back here?”

Thorin simply smirked and pulled out a mobile phone, punching in several numbers and waited a minute or so before someone on the other end picked up, talking loud enough for Bilbo to hear over the sounds of the storm and rushing water. Thorin spoke in the same foreign language as before, sharp and quick, and Bilbo hung back, waiting. A second later he hung up and looked round.

“There is no problem, little bird. One of my brothers will help me now.”

“Great,” Bilbo said, sighing in relief. “Um, very good. I’m cold and tired, and I want to eat.”

Thorin hummed, shifting his gun as he reached into his jacket. From one of his pockets he pulled out a dark lump that he tossed at Bilbo’s direction, and Bilbo caught it with fumbling fingers. “Here. Compensation for your troubles. On your way then, little bird.”

“Quit calling me that,” Bilbo snapped reflexively, pulling his jacket tightly around his middle as he turned the object over. It was small pocketknife, elegant in its design. Bilbo traced the small vein of blue ingrained along the handle with wonder. When he glanced back up to ask the man where he’d gotten a knife like that, Bilbo found himself standing alone by the sewers.

Thorin had already gone.

+

_Three Weeks Later_

Bilbo woke up to the sounds of gunshots.

Jerking upright in the near darkness, he scrambled for his things: an old rucksack stuffed with provisions, a spare shirt and a couple of trinkets snitched up here and there. The pocketknife Thorin had given him was tucked safely in the pocket of his trousers, where it had been for the past few weeks. In his haste, Bilbo accidentally bashed his head into the low arch of the closed-up fireplace of the abandoned flat he’d been sleeping in. Cussing under his breath and holding his forehead, Bilbo hurried to the window and peeked out from underneath the blinds. There were gunshots again, more screaming, and in the failing light of the evening he could see masked men running into the building. Bilbo’s heart leapt into his throat. _Thieves_.

He pulled his rucksack over his shoulders and burst into the hallway. The apartment he’d been hiding out had virtually nothing to offer, but sometimes stragglers, beggars, or lonely street kids would camp out on the couch or hide away upstairs. This place had never been a target for street thugs or gangs, but there was always a first for everything. The sounds of heavy boots shook the entire building as the bandits began running upstairs, and Bilbo took off like a bullet.

He raced up the stairs two at a time as the sounds of more shots, fighting and yelling echoed up from the floors below. Throwing the door to the roof open, Bilbo scrambled to the edge and searched frantically for the emergency escape ladder. When he found it, the metal was rusted and the lowest half was nearly torn away, but Bilbo scaled down the rungs like nobody’s business, his heart hammering in his chest. The landing made his ankles protest in pain, but there was no time to waste. He’d be killed if he stayed put.

But then again, he hadn’t counted on the group of four thieves keeping lookout as he rounded the corner.

There was a comical moment where Bilbo froze in mid-step, and the crooks all turned to him. A cigarette dropped from one of the men’s mouth, and Bilbo’s legs finally unstuck themselves from the ground. With the shouts of the bandits behind him, he broke into a run down the alley.

Bilbo ran like he’d never before, cutting through small roads and shortcuts as the thieves thundered along behind him, shouting threats. His rucksack bounced up and down, bumping into the back of his head. The next turn lead to a dead end, and oxygen whooshed out of him in one terrified swoop before Bilbo turned tail and raced the other way, legs pumping, stomach cramping, high on adrenaline. Spotting a tall fence at the end of the street, Bilbo immediately ran for it and began to climb. The thieves hollered as they caught up, and one of them grabbed his ankle. Screeching, Bilbo kicked the crook’s nose as hard as he could and the man bellowed as blood came gushing out of his nostrils. Hauling himself up before somebody else could grab him, Bilbo fell over the wall… right into a group of armed men walking along on the other side.

The good news was: Bilbo didn’t land on anybody.

The bad news was: he collasped awkwardly onto his ankle, definitely twisting it.

There were confused shouts in a different language as Bilbo groaned in pain, but a second later, the men who’d been chasing him jumped over the fence. One of them landed behind him, but the other three fell onto the armed men, and all hell broke loose.

Swear words and war cries echoed in the cramped alleyway as the groups clashed furiously, forcing Bilbo to roll to the side to avoid being stepped on. The thief closest to him grabbed for him again but Bilbo punched the man in the face, fighting him desperately. It was a nearly fruitless battle, since all it did was piss him off even more, but just as the thug growled “You little shit—!” there was a _bang_ he crumpled, falling into a heap on the ground. Bilbo sat on the ground, momentarily dumbfounded, and then a voice above him said, “What are you doing, little bird?”

Bilbo looked up, jaw dropping.

“T-Thorin?”

“You know him?” a massive, muscular bald man grunted, gesturing with his gun. Behind him, the alley was littered with the bodies of  the thieves. Bilbo stared.

“It’s him,” Thorin said simply. “The one on the rainy night, yeah?”

“Small, aren’t ya?” another man with straggly brown hair and a mischevious grin interjected, elbowing a shorter blonde man standing next to him. Bilbo flushed as Thorin grunted something at the others in the same strange language.

“What’re you doing here?”

Thorin rolled his shoulders and knelt, favouring his ankle. “We’re on patrol. Didn’t expect you to come flying out like a crazed sparrow. When’d you learn to fly, little bird?”

“I don’t _fly_ ,” Bilbo snapped, and the others laughed boisterously. Indignant, he tried to stand, but his ankle gave way and would’ve collapsed in another heap if Thorin hadn’t caught him.

“Easy,” the man said, almost soothingly. “How the tables have turned.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bilbo scowled. “Now I’m the one with an injured ankle.”

“You should come back with us,” the brunet winked. “Uncle will take care of you.”

“Uncle?” Bilbo repeated, confused, as Thorin barked something out in the foreign language again.

“These are my nephews,” the dark-haired man elaborated with an air of a long-suffering man. “Kili, and Fili. The tall one is Dwalin.”

“Are you guys like a gang?” Bilbo asked, tightening his grip on Thorin’s arm as he got unsteadily to his feet.  Glancing at the prone bodies of the thieves on the ground, he added, “Is this like… a gang war or something?”

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. Thorin cleared his throat, looking apprehensive. “No. We are Bane’s men.”

For the second time that day, Bilbo felt his jaw drop. “ _Bane’s men_?”

“We’re just modest mercenaries,” Fili said with a smirk. twirling a hunting knife in one hand. Bilbo swallowed.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

Dwalin barked out a laugh and hefted what looked like an assault rifle over his shoulder, walking down the alleyway. Fili and Kili both gave Bilbo matching grins before following the taller man. Thorin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“ _Mahal_ ,” he grumbled. “Nobody will kill you, Bilbo, no. You saved my life, so I am in your debt. No one will touch you as long as you are under my protection.”

“Um. Well, thanks,” Bilbo said timidly.

“Have you anywhere to stay?”

Thinking back to the raided building, Bilbo shook his head.  “Not anymore.”

“You can stay with us,” Thorin said quietly. “You can find work with us too, if you so wish. Your light feet and quick hands will be an asset. Bane will accept you with as long as you’re with me.”

Bilbo swallowed nervously. There were a billion thoughts running through his mind (Bane? Mercenaries? Protection? Joining those men?), but Thorin’s arm around his side was also warm, firm, like an anchor. It had been a long time since he'd felt rather... _safe_. Hesitating for just a moment, Bilbo finally took a deep breath.

“Lead the way,” he said, gesturing towards the end of the alleyway, where Dwalin and Fili and Kili were waiting.

Thorin smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> In some TDKR fanfictions I've read, Bane calls John Blake "little bird". There are also a lot of stories where Thorin calls Bilbo "halfling" most of the time, and I found a way to work it in there, gah.
> 
> Also, I've seen works where Bane and his men are always speaking in a private, foreign language that they don't divulge to anybody else, so I see Khuzdul as something similar to that.
> 
> I hope you guys liked this!


End file.
